


Death In Paradise Alternative Universe Series 3: Episode 5 - Recess

by HeatherTN



Series: Death In Paradise Alternative Universe Series Three [5]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeatherTN/pseuds/HeatherTN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The characters and concept of Death in Paradise belongs to Robert Thorogood and Red Planet Productions. Just borrowing ‘em for a little bit until after supper. </p><p>Richard continues his recovery but finds himself supporting a friend who opens up about a terrible incident from the past. A Mother/Daughter relationship is strengthened and for once, Commissioner Patterson is concerned more about the welfare of his staff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now that DIP has finished it's third series run, and my anti depressant meds have kicked in, it's time I dragged my muse back into action by watching *all* of series 1 and 2 ONLY! I need to get Richard Poole back into my head and carry on with what should have been....
> 
> *TRIGGER WARNING*: Rape, Kidnap, Loss, Violent Death - putting this here now for all of the story and again heading the chapters with such content

 

Fidel stretched and turned on to his side. His eyes opened as he heard a contented sigh from the beautiful woman beside him and smiled, content to just look at his gorgeous wife.

It had been a tough time, trying to figure out what went wrong, what had driven Juliet from their home to her mother’s with little Rosie. Fidel was ashamed, not telling anyone about his separation from Juliet, about going back to an empty house. After an explosive visit that had ended with the two of them on the kitchen floor in a passionate embrace, plus both getting a wise talking to from his mother in law, Fidel and Juliet gradually came back together. By the time Inspector Poole had been released from hospital, Juliet had moved back home and the process of starting afresh had made Fidel more humble, attentive and happy. But now it was time to get up, sort out Rosie for Juliet and get to work.

 

The gentle knock on his state room door woke José. It would be Samuel, his trusted valet.

“Come.” He called, and didn’t look up as Samuel prepared the tray of food and placed it carefully over his master’s lap.

“Thank you Samuel. I’ll be busy this morning conducting business. Please extend my apologies to our guests but I cannot be disturbed until lunch.”

“Signor.”

Samuel gave a slight bow before leaving.

Waiting until the door closed, José placed the tray aside and leaned to pick up a tablet on his bedside table, connected with a satellite internet service and started the day’s business which included the transfer of ten million US dollars to the Cayman account, checks on goods traffic. Also he mandated the order to plan and terminate a few headaches he had discovered a small island called Saint-Marie during a transfer that had badly failed.

However, taking over the little island would have to go on the back burner for a while as well as looking again at sorting out a certain British detective, but he could help out a friend in trouble in Miami by getting rid another headache he had discovered there.

Putting such thoughts aside, José started to organise the day’s work, first by scrutinising the Cayman accounts.

 

Dwayne opened up the face boards, swung open the doors and walked in to the small station. He placed the keys to the Enfield on his desk and set about turning on various bits and pieces. Fidel and Camille would be arriving shortly, then Marcus and a few others for a team brief. It was going to be a while before the Chief would get back to work, and Dwayne was praying to whoever was the Saint of small police stations it would be soon. They were starting to see far too much of the Commissioner.

Suddenly the phone rang on his desk, a frantic call from a local market tradesman about his stall being robbed by a small gang….

 

Camille stared at the number coming up on her mobile phone, hesitating to answer but she knew it was only going to be a matter of time before the Commissioner would need to talk to her. She looked up at a small picture that she had still kept on her dresser, sitting still as the memories began to cause tears well up in her eyes. It had been almost three years since an international undercover operation had gone disastrously wrong.

It was her first big assignment out from Paris as an undercover operative, and she was impatient to join in. With her were three others from Paris who were forming a team with the Americans and some Canadians. They were to infiltrate parts of a gang operating out of Miami, who exported to the USA, Canada and Europe from South America, up through the Caribbean and Mexico. Camille’s Creole background would serve her well as her role was to monitor local trafficking on the street, through the local prostitution rings and Pimps. For that, she had to pose as a table top and pole dancer and was well qualified as her second love - which she tended to keep a secret from her colleagues - at the time was interpretive dance.

But it had gone horribly wrong on so many levels. Camille went in to her character too deeply, gradually finding herself falling in to the ever dangerous trap of losing herself. On one occasion she actually had turned a....

No, she didn’t want to think about that, Marcel, Bob, Julie, Danny, Arianne, Lou or Mike. Of being trapped in a boathouse, or the hiss and glowing eyes of alligators approaching her as she lay immobilised and bleeding on a back road somewhere close to a swamp.....

She really needed to talk to someone, but not Maman, not for now. Camille didn’t want to reawaken such painful memories for her mother, or maybe she was avoiding doing that to herself. But no, it was time and needed to be done and faced. She fervently hoped that a dear friend would be willing to listen, and understand.

 

Richard carefully set his towel on the sand, close to a palm tree he was using for shelter against the sun. He had taken a few minutes to carefully inspect both the area and tree itself for any sign of coconuts. Having spent a month in hospital and now nearly two weeks recovering in his shack, Richard had no desire to then become a casualty of locally grown projectiles dropping from trees.

During his recovery, Richard had taken time to think, to mourn not just the loss of his mother but also his former life including wasted opportunities, living too much for duty and not enough for adventure. But then ‘adventure’ for Richard usually meant being sat somewhere surrounded by books, puzzles and plants, not under a palm tree lamenting his life and no longer being able to avoid having to figure out in what direction his life was going.

Certainly, it wouldn’t be in Croydon nick with a promotion.

Richard also wondered when he had become such a *hippie* as well. He had un-tucked his shirt from his trousers, rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, and had the first five buttons undone. Ok, so he still didn’t quite *trust* sitting on sand but he was getting used to hopping about on it in his bare feet.

  
‘Of course,’ he thought to himself ‘it’s happened since you nearly bloody died and not one sod bothered to check up on you from the UK. As for Dad....’

And he could no longer deny that sand, sun, bad tea, a battered Land Rover Defender and the best bloody police force this side of anywhere had become his new adventure. One he would no longer waste his precious life span regretting.....

...but the suit and pyjamas were staying!

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There are several other fics that include Camille's past as an undercover police officer, but I want to reassure the authors I have had this idea independantly in my head for a while. Any similaries are the result of us channeling as well as being brilliant authors of course ;-) No plagerism/swiping of ideas and/or plot lines have occurred or will ever occur.

Camille climbed out of the driver’s seat of the Defender and paused for a moment to gaze at the shack in front of her. She had called Richard to let him know she would be paying him a visit, so as to ‘check’ on his welfare but in reality, hoping against hope Richard would understand he would be discovering things about her today that could affect their professional, and almost certainly then, their personal relationship.

Cautiously, she stepped up onto the veranda and peeked in through the slatted doors, which were slightly ajar, but not seeing anything of Richard, for a moment she panicked and called out his name.

“Over here, Camille!” 

She heard him reply and looked round, to see Richard sat under a low palm tree. Both of Camille’s eyebrows shot up when she saw that Richard’s shirt was un-tucked, slightly billowing in the late afternoon breeze, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his trouser legs rolled up to just below his knees. Drawing her head back a little, Camille stepped down on to the beach by the front steps and paused for a moment to take a closer look. She smiled at the fact Richard was sitting on a towel, so he hadn’t gone *completely* native but entertained the thought it wouldn’t be that long before he did. 

Richard smiled as Camille approached him, noting her stride which was so confident and the huge smile on her face which seemed to grow wider as she came closer. His heart lifted at the thought that the most stunning woman he had ever met seemed to be genuinely pleased to see him. 

Camille sat down next to Richard, inclining her head slightly and looked at him, studying his facial expression. She had never seen him so relaxed and open in his posture. Clearly he was enjoying his leave and happy to take in the local scenery.  
“You’re looking better Richard, and it’s good to see you sat on the sand! I’ve only seen you do that once before.” Camille said, remembering the first time he had done that, sans even a hankie, when he tried to comfort her after Aimee had died. Ok, so he was sitting on a towel but she would forgive him that much  
.  
Richard lightly shrugged his shoulders, drawing his lips close for a second while giving her a sideways nod.

“Well, can’t pass up on living the idyllic life any longer. Mind you I should have brought a beer with me. The sand is still too bloody hot for bare feet though. I would imagine Camille, you would have enjoyed me hopping about the sand this morning.” He said, now grinning.

Camille gave a small laugh giving Richard a small push on his arm.

Then for a moment, both became quiet with Richard gazing at the warm waves gently lapping up on to the beach. Camille studied him, seeing the fact he appeared almost younger, a part of him changing slowly, becoming more accepting of his life in Saint-Marie. This was the most relaxed she had seen Richard to be. Lord, did he look ever so handsome with his shirt partially open, his slightly longer hair than usual slightly ruffling in the breeze!

Then there was the beard. She could not take her eyes off it. It looked so odd but somehow fantastic. Richard was one of a rare type of man who looked equally good with or without a beard but she was going to enjoy this for as long as possible, and keep the jokes to a minimum.

Richard could see out of the corner of his eye that Camille was studying him for a moment. He was about to say something about her ‘ogling’ him, but since he had been quietly doing that with Camille from a distance for a while, he decided to keep that bit to himself.

“So,” Camille said, turning to face Richard “How are you today? You’re looking very relaxed!” 

Richard ducked his head for a moment, smiling at her comment, looking up again continuing to stare at the waves.  
“I’m fine, feeling much better thank you.” He replied.

Camille fell silent for a moment and joined Richard in looking at the waves lapping up on the beach before them. Finally Camille plucked up the courage to speak.

“Richard, is ok if I talk about something? I’m going to be away from Saint-Marie for a short while in the New Year. I don’t know how much of my dossier you have read but I have to appear as a witness in Miami. I should have discussed this with you ages ago…..”

Richard raised his hand a little, and then looked Camille.

“I have read your file, yes but parts of it were, shall we say, incomplete. I saw the Commissioner about it and he did mention this would be a possibility but not to discuss it. I gather it’s to do with your past work as an undercover officer.”

“Yes it is.” 

Taking a deep breath, Camille continued.

“Richard, the reason why there are gaps in the dossier is because the case is still active and subjected to INTERPOL intelligence restrictions. I didn’t do so well with it and it caused a breach to occur that got five of my colleagues killed, one of them…….”  
Richard didn’t react as Camille ducked her head, and he could see tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, but remained silent. But inside his head he began to panic, should he show more emotion because at that instant, he wanted to embrace her but it would be out of character and he didn’t…

“Have you ever done anything where you get too confident and do something stupid, or not keep control of your actions?” Camille quietly “and have that get people killed?”

Richard gave himself a moment to think. His reply could wreck the fragile moment which was occurring. It was not lost on Richard that Camille was about to tell him something that had been tucked away in that feisty gorgeous French head of hers. He braced himself when he finally spoke.

“Camille, we’ve all made mistakes but I guess the one you’re going to tell me about, in full with no omissions, has to do with this case?”

Camille nodded mutely, hanging her head.

“Will it help if I say, whatever you tell me will remain totally confidential, and I’ll not judge you on it?”

Camille nodded in response.

“Then I guess it’s time for a beer.” Richard replied, getting up off the sand. This was going to take a while by the sound of it, and the shack would be a more comfortable and private place to talk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camille starts to open up about her failed undercover assignment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS RATED MATURE. Some description of sexual acts. Do Not Read if you are easily offended.

Richard motioned Camille to sit on a chair opposite him out on the verandah. He noted how Camille was sitting, with her arms crossed and head down. It pained him to see her like this, becoming withdrawn and not like the confident, in-your-face, feisty woman who brooked no nonsense, not even from her Chief of Police. Placing an opened beer bottle in front of her, Richard sat down, careful not to lean too close. He had seen this before, the look of a victim.

Camille gazed up at Richard and he almost gasped at the haunted look in her eyes. Her mouth opened a little and she became almost breathless. It began to dawn on him that Camille was starting to have a panic attack as she suddenly gripped the side of her chair, looking for all the world as if she was going to pass out. Gently, Richard placed his hand on her arm, desperately wanting to gather her up in to his. But not for now, definitely not, all Richard could do was brace himself to catch her if she did pass out and waited for the storm to pass. It was an agony he had seen too many times when dealing with victims and their families.

After what seemed an eternity, Camille recovered enough to face Richard. She drew a deep breath and sighed while sitting back into the chair, using both hands to momentarily rub her face.

Then Camille started talking….

 

Downtown Miami, Fall 2008.

Alison sat heavily on the uneven stool in front of a mirror ringed with the usual bare theatrical lights. In front of her on a slightly worn shelf were lined up the garish make ups she would need to apply before the next two sessions. Tonight she would be working until the small hours of the morning.

She began to comb through her short curly hair, before applying the head cap. Tonight, she would wear the copper coloured wig that came down to the small of her back. After applying her makeup and fixing the somewhat cumbersome wig to her head and pinning it up, Alison carefully checked it. Part of her act was to have it come tumbling down over her shoulders and add to the seductiveness of her style. Being a pole and lap dancer entailed more than just wriggling about , flashing tits and foufou to the quiet, drooling customers.

Alison had only being doing her act for a few months, her first large club, but had already caught the eye of the local big spenders and some international ones, finding the strap of her tiny thong well stuffed with hundred dollar notes. It was the internationals she was more interested in but one had to be careful, the big purses had a habit of making folks disappear, usually the young pretty ones.

Then of course there were the private sessions.

Occasionally whether she liked it or not, Alison was pointed to a back room where a big purse would want to see her perform privately. Officially customers were not allowed to proposition or touch the dancer, but in reality it did happen and not all were men either. Alison found it difficult to focus on her performance when some fat sweaty person would start openly masturbating in front of her. At that point she would stop and try to leave. But occasionally there was an extra thousand in it if she stayed until the customer climaxed, so she had to go back in and finish.

The bell rang breaking her reverie. Adjusting her wig and flimsy top, sliding her feet in to the mile high clear Perspex platform shoes, Alison headed out on to the stage wing to wait her turn. It was times like this Alison would hear the girls talking about someone they knew either suddenly leaving or missing. No one ever spoke out aloud though and Alison had some difficulty trying to get the girls too open up. Ask too many questions and someone would put a stop to it, she was sure.

But right now, her first set was about to start, so holding her head high and striding out on to the stage, Alison carefully draped herself around the centre pole, starting with a slow gyration around it and speeding up to the music getting into her stride.  
Then she saw him sat in the front with the big spenders. Her heart skipped a beat as there was no way he should have been here in plain sight. Concentrating hard on her next moves, Alison carried on and tried to stem the rising anxiety crawling up her spine. Eventually her first set ended with her pulling a clip and the copper hair falling about her shoulders, then a final swing around the pole before flipping her legs up over her head then wrapping them around the pole for a spectacular end of the routine by holding herself upside down until the light faded. As soon as she was hidden from the audience by the dimming lights, Alison eased herself off the pole and made her way backstage.

But while rounding the dark corridors, Alison found herself being pulled back by a large strong arm, and before she could scream, the bitter smell of a chloroform soaked cloth covered her face and she felt herself tumbling down a long dark tunnel in to nothingness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains graphic scenes of violence and sexual assualt.

She came to at the painful slap across her face. Opening her one good eye, as the other was swollen enough not to open, she saw the fat, angry face of one of the local hoods, Roberto Sensa. He was shaking her now and Alison tried her best to get focussed, but the after effects of the chloroform and the tight grip Sensa had on her, made it impossible. Alison gave a low moan when she realised how battered she was.

“Wake up you silly little bitch!” Sensa had growled, “You upset one of my best paying customers by the other night! Coulda cost me thousands! You shoudla given him the extras like you did the last time. You’ll not get the same chance to make that mistake again!”

At that, Alison felt herself being thrown across the room, colliding with a wall before sliding back to the floor, with no energy to move, and remained mute as Sensa approached her, unzipping his pants. Weakened from being drugged and now concussion, Alison’s ability to fend off Sansa’s advances, further beating and ripping off of Alison’s shorts was non-existent, and she could only raise a groan at his eventual brutal penetration.

Once done, Sansa finished his attack by delivering a swift kick to Alison’s abdomen. She had been taught a lesson, and that was to always do what a high paying customer wanted, no matter how distasteful. He turned and left with his cold eyed henchmen in tow.

Five days later, when Alison was able to stand and keep down food she returned to the club. Another regular customer spotted her and approached, his voice close to a whisper.

“Keep acting subservient. We need to talk..” He said, taking her arm, leading her out of the door.

 

Saint-Marie West Beach.

Camille looked at Richard, who remained silent and impassive. 

“I had to play the part and got in over my head. I made the mistake of thinking I needed to give in to a customer’s demand for sex on one occasion. It was horrible but did it because I thought I was protecting the team. Sansa was getting suspicious about these new people hitting town. We made the mistake of not staggering our arrivals. He’s not stupid and we got caught out. He had all of us abducted, all of us.

Miami Beach South Marina.

Things got worse after Alison’s initial beating. When Marcel had lead her away from the club to ask what had happened, one of Sansa’s snitches had seen them leave and had followed them. He had obviously overheard part of, if not all the conversation between Alison and her colleague. Within twenty four hours she, Marcel and the rest had their covers blown and were now bound and at the mercy, or rather the lack of it, at the hands of Sansa and his men.

Sansa moved slowly around his captives.

“Shoulda known you were all too good to be true. Had my doubts but this little bitch caught me off guard for a while as she had grown *very* popular with my customers. Didn’t know cops would have such a talent among their ranks. Pity we have to arrange a little going away present for you all but you have all outstayed your welcome…”

At that, Sanda nodded to his men, as each stood behind seven of the agents. Alison was dragged up into a sitting position, hands grabbing her short bleached hair and twisting her head towards the team. All knew what about to happen and Alison could only watch in horror as one by one, each team member was casualty shot through the back of their heads. She will never forget seeing Marcel’s lips move being able to whisper “I love you..” at her before she felt his blood splatter over her.  
Sansa walked in front of her, smiling again.

“I thought about have you joining your friends tonight, but we have a special going away present for you my little bitch.”

Each of the men approached her, their rough hands flipping Alison on to her front, ripping off her clothing, beating her, raping and sodomizing her repeatedly, then the penetration in to her backside of a small knife caused her to scream from under her gag, the pain of which caused her to pass out, but not before she heard Sansa mutter something about a road trip into a swamp.

The rest was a dream. She wasn’t sure if she had really been bound, naked and thrown out the back of a van, with some fresh meat. It was dark and with her eyes swollen from the beatings she had received. Alison tried struggling against the tapes binding her arm, legs and covering her mouth, but it was pointless, she had no strength left and that point had given up. Despite the humidity, Alison was shivering, cold and at the point where she began to lose the feeling in her legs.

Then she heard them, a series of low hisses and the noise of heavy feet and splashing water close by. Managing to finally open one of her eyes, Alison froze at the sight of dark shapes coming towards her, eating the meat close to her. It was moonlit night and there was no mistaking the reflection in the eyes of the alligators approaching her.

 

Saint-Marie West Beach.

Richard sat impassive as Camille looked at him.

“It was so close. One of those beasts had glanced by me and I thought it was going to take my head off. That’s when the Mackersons showed up.” 

“The Mackersons?” 

“The people who were driving down that road, they live in that area and had seen the things coming up on to the road and then me. Apparently they got out and grabbed me quickly which was a very brave thing to do.”

Richard looked at her and shuddered at the thought of Camille coming so close to death. He saw the anxious look in her eyes. There was only one thing he could do to reassure her and that was to reach out and briefly place his hand on hers, and look into her eyes.

“Thank you for trusting me with this Camille. You went through so much but one thing does puzzle me. Why did you go back to undercover work afterwards? Is there not the concern someone might recognize you?”

Camille shrugged, “When I recovered, I moved back here for a while and then transferred to the Guadeloupe force. My undercover work is very local, and I had been on James Lavender’s trail for about a year before you arrested me. I looked very different in Miami to what I do now.”

Richard nodded and sat back. Camille dropped her head with her shoulders sagging,

“What you must think of me Richard. It will all come out at Sansa’s trial but I didn’t want you to have to find out then. It’s going to be big news and I wonder how the force here will think of me virtually being a prostitute!”

Richard cleared his throat.

“You are an uncommonly brave woman, an exceptional officer who got dragged in too deep. But I don’t think you let your team down Camille. Yes, mistakes were made from what you told me but from what I can gather from undercover officers back in the UK, it’s a risk that comes with the job. No one is going to think any less of you. If they did, you would not have continued with your work nor be here…..”

“..even though you’re French…” and at that Richard winked, then yelped as Camille gave him a hard swat in the arm but did so grinning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine remembers, Camille goes to see Patterson and there's a welcome return to the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have taken so long. It's not ended the way I wanted to but I needed to finish up and move on. I have to admit, seeing the first episode of season three has put a huge dent in my enjoyment of DIP, because all I can see in my head now is that bloody chair with a dead detective in it! I'm gradually coaxing my DIP muse back but it's hard going at the moment. Anyway, hope this little tale hasn't been to dull and I can start getting the other episodes on paper.

Catherine flicked a switch and smiled as the bar lights lit up the small bar.  She had spent so many of her years here, first as a cook and bar maid to eventually manager and then owner of La Kaz.  Here she recovered from the breakup of her marriage and despite the poverty she had found herself in, as Marlon was incapable of paying child support, Catherine was determined to not only start her new life but make sure Camille who was six at the time, would get the best in the way of love and encouragement that Catherine could give. The little bar became her home after they has spent some time with her sister up in the hills.  Louisa had seven children, a loving husband who worked in one of the local coffee plantations plus any spare work he could get to bring in literally amounted to only a few extra pennies.

Then after a while, after impressing her boss at La Kaz (named after his mother), Catherine was made manager, moved in with Camille, then started her role as a single mother and eventually a very successful business woman. It wasn’t easy but somehow Catherine made the time for Camille, helped by Louisa’s family, plus a very young school friend whom Camille had all but adopted as a younger sister, but who had been tragically murdered years later.  Catherine had been on a business trip to St Lucia when an almost hysterical Camille had called her to say Aimee had died and again, within the hour, Catherine was on a ferry heading back to Honoré.

Catherine had plans to expand her business, La Kaz after years of hard work had become a very popular and profitable place, but for a bar was small and could be quite the sweat box at times especially in the high season. 

Her first project was to use part of it as a restaurant with a small bar, with the intent of having party crowd to move on a few metres on the seaward side to a more open and slightly larger premises.  The corrugated roof had been updated so as to stip leaks and reduce the noise levels of clattering when it rained, which had been known to drown out conversation. She would keep La Kaz and when ready, would install a manager to run the place, with Catherine spending the majority of her time in the new bar until it was up and running.

The patio opposite La Kaz that she had on lease from Henri LeBasson, she now owned.  The tree had been trimmed, and at present the gravely area was being covered in wood decking, so there was less of a chance of a drunk customer tripping or twisting an ankle on the loose stones. Also the small rooms at the back of the bar had been updated and altered to three larger guest rooms that overlooked a small courtyard garden. All of course, were en suite and would do well as extra income.

But the move could wait until after the Christmas and New Year celebrations, so her time would be taken in completing a stock take, getting the necessary permissions for an extended licence and steeling herself that afterward, she would be seeing little of what had been her salvation until the other bar was up and running to her satisfaction.

Such details, she thought to herself.  Running a business took time and dedication for sure but Catherine never lost sight of what or who rather, was the most important person in her life, the person she had done all this for.

Then without warning, Catherine suddenly found herself reliving the awful time when her precious _enfant_ had been so badly injuredhad returned to Saint-Marie broken like a fragile doll, to recover .  Catherine had been informed that Camille had been badly injured, by Selwyn Patterson personally but much to her anger would not give any details, except Camille was critically ill. Within the hour, she had boarded the inter island taxi plane to Basse Terre on her way to Miami.  Once there, Camille had the shock of her life. Camille looked so small in a huge hospital bed but did not look anything like her daughter. Under the severe bruising, bandages, plastered limbs and tubes, lay a tiny form, so terribly thin with hair that had been short cropped and bleached.  It was only then Catherine found out the extent of Camille’s injuries but not given any detail on how and *why* she had received them.  It was to do with her work and had been informed Camille would be receiving a commendation and the thanks for her services in a task force, and of course the FBI….

Catherine shook her head and slowly closed her books. Camille had spoken to her mother the evening the before about returning to Miami as a witness about the case she had been involved in, to relieve what had happened and face the bastard that had damaged her so much.  Catherine had vowed that if the man so much as even looked in the direction of Saint-Marie, he would find himself solidly dead. It did not matter that this creature was something big with a Mexican drug ring. There was nothing more powerful and dangerous than a mother who would stop at nothing to avenge her child.

 

“Come in and sit down Camille.”

Selwyn Patterson motioned his Detective Sergeant to a chair by his desk.  Camille had taken her time in replying to Patterson’s request to discuss her forthcoming appearance as a witness at one of the biggest trials in Miami’s history. He was very reluctant to see the woman in front of him thrust in to a situation where, although her identity would remain anonymous to the press, she had to face the beast who had taken the lives of some very talented police officers and investigators, but who did not count on one of them surviving.  As much as Selwyn liked to think Camille could be protected on his tiny island, he nor anyone could guarantee it, but would do their damndest to try.

He sat down behind his desk and for a brief moment, did not see the beautiful woman in front of him but a young girl intent of running away from home when Patterson himself was but a young sergeant of the then Le Police de Saint-Marie. He had spotted the young lass sat on a pavement on one of the then back streets leading up to the hill roads. He and half the volunteers had been called out by a hysterical Catherine Bordey when she realised her daughter had gone missing. Selwyn had taken the time to sit with the troubled lass, who was coming to terms with the breakup of her parents’ marriage, and who was finding it hard to settle in to a place she had not lived in since a baby.  Selwyn had then coaxed the young Camille back to her home and her tearful mother.  After that, the Pattersons became lifelong friends with Catherine and Camille, and who were kind enough to be there for Catherine when Camille departed Saint-Marie for Paris, for eight long years.

Selwyn shook his head a little, noting Camille’s nervousness and silence, and resolved to get through this interview as quickly as possible. It was confirmed that Camille would be leaving for Miami on January 4th, for an unspecified time to give evidence and on her return to Saint-Marie, would have an option to take leave until she felt ready to return to her duties.  Selwyn was pleased that she had also confided in Inspector Poole, who seemed very supportive and concerned about Camille’s welfare.  Selwyn, as indeed most of Saint-Marie, was not unaware that there were deeper feelings between his two detectives growing, but that was an issue which would be dealt with on another occasion if needed

 

Two Weeks Later.

Walking up the ramp to the Station, Richard was pleased the place had been spruced up a bit on the outside, but paused to turn and look over the busy market that was held in the square four times a week.  Of course he wore his grey suit and tie as usual, with trusty briefcase in hand and would never be any less pedantic, and no doubt irritating at times, but everything seemed somehow new, fresh, and comforting. 

“Welcome back Chief!”

Richard turned and smiled as Dwayne walked up the ramp towards him with his hand outstretched and a big grin on the police officer’s face.  Richard gladly took Dwayne’s hand and returned a hearty shake.

“I trust all is in tiptop shape Dwayne.”

“Oh yes, Chief! We’ve tidied up, got some new computers with those flatter screens, and have a contract with Eldred for bottled water.  There’s even your favourite tea in there.”

It was Richard’s turn to grin, “Good to know the important things are in place.  I trust that everything else is in order, such as police work.”

Dwayne made a big show of looking puzzled, then grinning again drawing back a little, his head cocked to one side.

“Ah, yes the work thing. We’re seeing a lot more petty crime than before but the volunteer force is comin’ in real handy with investigations but we ain’t getting much luck with arrests so far.”

Richard nodded. Still the same problems before and as he entered the station, the humid air was not being effectively dealt with the ancient overhead fan, the kitchen area was tidier but still with ancient cutlery and a ‘do not use’ notice on the what he considered to be a highly radioactive microwave.  However on his desk was a flowery tea pot, fresh milk in a matching jug plus cup, saucer and sugar lumps in a small jar with a spoon.

Indeed, the most important details of his job had been attended to and there were even crimes to investigate.

It was good to be back.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               


End file.
